Masked Up [Steve x Seven x Papa]

[Steve Dank] Hear me... Here we go again, loose pen, rewriting my typo-graphy so the ones that love me only see the G-ography I map out No doubt they can see past the masks, I cover the fake with (fake shit) My acting is method, my emotions are vagrant Copied, pasted Ironically, organically arrogant, embarrassed to ask for the name of ya therapist Heard she liked experimental merriments, asparagus on her tits Shitssssssss AAAHHHH I went to rhyme and fucked it up Still working on ma, (identity) I bend Diddy tea, make sure I don't tell the wrong story an' fuck it up Damn, I did-did-did it again Just look past that and realize we tha best mothafuckas that's hatched inside ya ears and outlasted these "real" ratchets that only be out here to catfish (WE PAST DAT) You can have my mask, roll it up and bask in the smog that you Janes are so desperately Fonda Mall-all-tha-tovs, mirage, build a whole damn persona off a hot topic Gotcha feelin' chill, suckin' down droplets of mop watt-ta-ta-ta Flip shit, pick up ya mitts, and let's get lit, fit-bit bout ta split, tid bit of ya lips still clipped around my dick tip Bleach ya Feed ja Bleed ya Beat cha (Eat cha) (Believe me) I only lie when it benefits me completely Leave me I'll just stalk ya, won't cost a goddamn thing (run-run) ring-ring Just pick up the phone, know you're alone, you ain’t gotta say a thing I just wanna tell you goodnight, but for some reason, your location won't ping [Seven] Ring ring, ding ding hit green like fean pop bean in dream watch steam exhaust spit fire cellie still blowin up get lost, fucked up picked up whats up hold up who's phone? found a sticky ransom note one fifty askin about betty, click [pause] so i boop phone cant stand the tone, gotten with the dial tone, [pause] fuck ight hold up Steve I can do better alright im start over..... From the mud, but its alright No money long walks, i fight Concrete jungle all these threats reek the pain got me up, all night Slinging pills to pay moms bills In deep like creep I reek Chasin' bitches for midnight thrills Hustle hard even to the bums All that, ya you learn from But all that taught me, now i believe in me They say fuck the street, she kinda built me Nowadays I built me I gotta cupple stacks go ahead envy me You cant tell me nothing I havn't seen Blowin this smoke man I love my green Examples in lead proven with this pencil Education minimalist but blur my writin game stylistic, lyricaly empiricist, jottin' alphabet with a wrist flick, not someone you wanna fuck with, behind this mask, you dont wanna fuck with, strap strapped in square of my back, allegedly let it it crack wherein all black mother fuckers thought it was cool to pull a bat, now I pull up in a c class but I still ride around with a ski mask new address same instinks makes me think, but i still park wide and drive fast music loud hit hit sip sip my cold flask ya learn fast when ya live fast just so your awear, there my life on blast do you see a reflection or can you see through the glass when im sitting in questioning and remove this mask [Papa] Yeah yeah…Papa….He got dat….. Mask on, whacks off Led ta paper, write til he pulls a Steve ‘n’ smacks dong I meant ta say dawg, dome a dog down, dig a hole, split a dimmadome ta send ‘em home Yeah my rhyme wrong, slow spawn Seventh say it’s no game, playin’ games Maybe I got no song, road goes long Papa fuckin’ wit’ a whack lyric, yeah, but it go strong So fun, ink drawn Devin in the back o’ the track like a phantom scribblin’ on the lawn Check a king, ain’t a pawn, my mask is a cloak, I stay me like SilkSong Pen pressed hard like a blade in the flesh of my quest-chawn Who am I really when the room dim-lit? The crowd loves Papa, but they don’t really know him A goof when he’s hostin’, lyrically boastin’ He humble when roastin’, but what is he showin’? I built this voice outta splinters at the bar, bars built from bark Nature lit the spark, lantern in tha dark, bench in the park, bolts just need tightening Metal on natural I’m sculpting a titan, culpable smite-ing Miles ‘n’ miles gone, electric sight-seeing Peek to ma past, paleogenic lightning Papa a scythe ring, slicin’ ‘n’ dicing timing til a soul enlightens Papa’s just me man, no blueprints for decypherin’ illest armor of rhyme, the real me hides behind A mythical god to bless the beat A fuckin’ sermon I use ta feast on ma grief Ya’ll see the mask an assume it’s another face But the face in the mirror barely stays in place Psyche’s half a prophet, half verbally deformed I only fuckin’ write raw so the next person won’t have feel the scorn Living the lessons I’m learnin’ Steve ‘n’ Seven, ya’ll my bros Ya boy…. Papa ….. Oh shit..that’s right GET READY FOR THE 4 MAN CYPHER!